


Torn's Vacation

by varethane



Category: Jak and Daxter
Genre: (mostly humour anyway), Ashelin orders him out of the office, Gen, Humour, Torn does not know how to rest, Torn gets an ulcer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5096117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/varethane/pseuds/varethane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set very shortly after the end of Jak II. Torn's been working himself sick; when Tess and Ashelin find out, they ban him from all operations for a week. Turns out getting Torn to stop working is easier said than done,</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overly Observant Friends

Baron Praxis’s former palace was a much nicer home base for the Underground than their previous slum abode, that was for certain. While Torn did not intend to give up the original HQ-- it would make a great safehouse even after main operations had been transferred elsewhere, for once thing-- the Palace had all the room they could have hoped for and then some.

Of course, there was always room for improvements and renovations. Luckily for the former Underground commander, the Palace also provided a number of lovely rooms in which one could set up a desk and then not move from it for days.

‘Have you eaten anything today?’

Torn flicked his gaze up momentarily from the blueprint he was examining. ‘Yes.’ He needed to work out the necessary corridor width that would accommodate all the new security equipment they were installing; maybe if he picked up the pencil and compass again Tess would get the hint that he didn’t want to be bothered.

No such luck; instead she crossed her arms and moved closer. ‘What was it? Because I know I brought you breakfast before I went to the Naughty Ottsel, and that plate’s still there untouched.’

‘Uhh…’ His mind raced for a moment and came up with nothing. ‘...Ration bar?’

Tess didn’t reply, except for a pointed nod towards the small garbage can resting beside the desk. It was very obviously empty.

Torn growled faintly and put the pencil down to knead at his forehead. ‘Tess, I’m busy. And not hungry. It doesn’t matter.’

‘What do you mean it doesn’t matter?’ said Tess in exasperation, spreading her hands. ‘If you don’t eat you could seriously mess yourself up. You haven’t STOPPED working since… since before I can remember!’

He made to pick up the pencil again but the put her hand down on it firmly, forcing him to look up. ‘Torn, we WON. Praxis is gone. The metalhead nest is empty. Don’t you think it’s about time you had a break?’

He managed to wedge the pencil back out from under her fingers. ‘The rest of you all can take a break whenever you want,’ he said, irritable. ‘But the city doesn’t stop running--so long as I’ve still got work to do, I’m going to do it.’

Tess’s eyes narrowed, and her lips hardened into a thin line. With another sigh, she turned around and left the room; Torn immediately resumed working.

With any luck, this would be the last he heard of this. So what if his stomach hurt too much to eat? He had a job to do.

Torn never was very lucky.

__

His communicator sparked to life around five oclock in the evening. Ashelin’s voice crackled along.

‘Torn, I need you upstairs.’

He blinked at the device for a moment; Ashelin had been occupied with assembling a council and a plan of action for Haven city moving forward, and he’d been given the impression that she had that well in hand. But if she needed him… ‘Roger,’ he said into the communicator, and then stood up.

As he stood in the lift, he briefly pondered the accuracy of her using the phrase ‘upstairs’-- while the Palace technically had stairs, it was just one set for emergency purposes (he’d checked on the blueprints). No one had ever used them. But perhaps some sort of new signage was in order, to make sure all of his operatives knew where they were just in case…

He emerged from the lift into the first of two floors that Ashelin had taken over as her wing; the lower for important meetings and her office, and the upper for living quarters. The meeting room was empty, as was the study; after walking around in confusion, Torn flicked his communicator back on and raised it to his mouth.

‘Upstairs,’ said Ashelin, before he could get a word out. ‘The rest of the way upstairs.’

Torn frowned, but stepped back into the lift; when it emerged he found himself in Ashelin’s large antechamber, where there was a small table set up with place settings for two. Ashelin, having heard the lift, had stepped out of the bedchamber to stand behind one of the chairs.

A suspicion began to settle over Torn’s mind. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘We’re going to have dinner,’ said Ashelin. She motioned him towards the other chair.

Slowly, he went. At first he was horribly worried that there was going to be an attendant or something to bring the food (he felt a deep sense of embarassment at the idea of being served, especially as it would probably be by an underground member); but instead Ashelin merely brought over a covered tray from another table and set it in the center, allowing them both to serve themselves.

‘Did Tess put you up to this?’ asked Torn, watching Ashelin ladle some soup into a bowl.

‘She didn’t put me up to anything,’ said Ashelin calmly. ‘She did tell me you haven’t been eating.’

‘That’s not true,’ Torn protested, and then closed his mouth, realizing how ridiculous _I ate yesterday_ would sound in this context.

‘Well, either way, I thought it would be nice to have dinner together,’ she said, leaning back in her chair with a faint smile. She swirled an elegant glass full of water in her hand. ‘I’ve barely seen you for the last week. Hardly a desirable state of affairs for the Governess of Haven City and the Commander in charge of getting the Guard reorganized.’

‘There’s been a lot to do,’ said Torn.

‘Well, perhaps you could tell me about it,’ said Ashelin. She took a sip of the water, and then pointed to the bowl of soup on the table with a suddenly steely look in her eye. ‘But first you’ll try some of that.’

The soup was delicious. Torn only lasted about a minute, though, before the wash of now-familiar burning pain from his midsection broke off his sentence and bent him forward in his seat. Gritting his teeth, he put down his spoon.

_Mar, did it just get worse?_ He’d been hoping he could bluff his way through… Normally it took several minutes for the pain to start.

Ashelin started up from her chair, alarmed. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘It’s…’ Nothing. Torn rubbed a hand across his face, feeling the beginnings of sweat. ‘...I don’t know.’

‘Was it the soup? Precursors, you’re not allergic to something, are you?’

‘No! No,’ Torn waved a hand as she straightened up and put the cover back on the serving bowl. ‘It’s not the food. This has, uh… this has been going on for awhile.’ This last was uttered in a mumble.

She stared at him, her brows lowering. ‘How long?’

He looked away, and she grabbed him by the chin and made him face her again. ‘How. Long.’

‘....About a month?’

She released him, looking horrified and somewhat hurt. ‘You haven’t eaten for a month?!’

‘I have!’ he protested, trying to sit up despite the horrible burning. ‘It’s just… been unpleasant.’

‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ The horror in her voice was turning to exasperation, mirroring Tess from earlier.

‘It’s been too busy,’ he said, finally managing to straighten up. He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I’ll take care of this once all this restructuring mess is done with.’

This appeared to be the wrong thing to say, because her brows snapped back down. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re going to take care of it now.’

‘But--’

She was already walking away, towards a communicator lying on an end table. ‘You’re going to call Samos and meet with him immediately,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘And then you’re going to take a vacation.’

‘What?!’ He stared up at her. ‘I can’t-- there’s too much to--’

‘That is an order, Commander,’ she said. ‘You are not to set foot in any offices for a week.’

When he didn’t immediately move, she rested a hand on the table and leaned in close. ‘Understood?’ she said quietly.

‘Y-yes,’ he said, and fumbled with the communicator.


	2. Resting...?

Samos reacted about as he’d expected. It was impressive how such a short, squat man could somehow still seem to tower over someone nearly twice his height even with the platform shoes.

‘Do you know what an ulcer is, Torn?’ he’d said after the initial examination, with that peculiar tone of false sweetness that usually belied an imminent explosion.

‘Yes--’ 

‘You have a hole in your stomach, you idiot! Any day it could have opened up the rest of the way and you’d have bled to death on the inside!’ Samos jabbed a finger into the center of Torn’s chest, eliciting a wince. ‘For a tactician you’re surprisingly dense.’

‘So what should I do now?’ said Torn, resigned.

Samos pushed at his shoulder, indicating he should lie down; Torn did so. ‘I’ll heal it,’ said Samos. ‘But I can’t cure rank stupidity-- you’re going to have to cut back on the late nights and caffeine, or it’s going to come right back.’

‘Caffeine?’ said Torn, alarmed. Having given up alcohol, coffee had become his saviour. ‘What? What’s wrong with coffee?’

Samos barked out an unusually evil laugh. ‘It’s too acidic. But don’t worry about it, boyo; you can adjust. You’re on vacation now, remember?’

__

Once free from Samos’s attention and with strict instructions to eat regularly (and a threat that someone would be checking in to make sure he did), Torn hopped into the zoomer he’d left on the street and thumbed on his communicator to call Ashelin.

‘I talked to Samos,’ he said.

‘What’d he say?’ asked Ashelin.

Torn shrugged one shoulder even though she couldn’t see it. ‘It’s not important. I’m better now-- coming back to the Palace.’

‘No you’re not,’ said Ashelin.

Torn slowed down on the zoomer and someone else jostled him from behind; he quickly flipped between zones, lowering his vehicle down to the ground. ‘What?’

‘No work for a week. It’s probably easiest if you stay away from the Palace altogether-- except for dinner every night, of course.’

Torn blinked at the communicator, momentarily lost for words. ‘....So… what do I do in the meantime?’

‘Anything you want,’ said Ashelin. ‘I hear they’re holding the first preliminary trial run for the next racing Cup at the Mar Coliseum in a couple of hours; that should be entertaining… Oh, and Tess wanted to help out. She’ll probably be calling soon.’

Torn had never particularly been one to care about the races (even when he’d been in the KG, where it was a favourite topic of discussion, he’d always found something else to do whenever people were planning to watch one), but in these circumstances it did sound slightly better than doing nothing all evening. He sighed and pressed his fingers briefly to his forehead. ‘Fine. But did you find someone to go over the schematics I was working on?’

‘Those aren’t due for well over a month from now, they’ll keep.’

‘What about tracking that KG holdout, I had a lead that they were--’

‘It’s being taken care of.’

‘And the--’

‘Torn.’ Her voice was as amused as it was stern. ‘This isn’t a work conversation. Relax; nothing is going to fall apart in your absence.’

He wanted to retort but couldn’t seem to think of anything good to hurl back. Instead he just sighed again. ‘...Fine.’

‘Promise you’ll take it easy?’

His shoulders hunched as he stared at the zoomer’s handlebars. ‘...Promise.’

‘All right. See you at eight tomorrow for dinner.’

The communicator clicked as she hung up; he thumbed it back off, staring into space, and then just sat there for a moment looking at nothing.

_ Promise? _

He revved up the zoomer again, kicking it into gear and returning to the flow of traffic. Well… if he was barred from desk work, he might as well take a ride around the city.

It had been a long time since he’d travelled in the open for more than a few minutes. Years, probably. As a Guard, his life had been in uniform and strictly regimented; in the Underground, it was simply too risky, especially as he took on more responsibilities and became too hard to replace.

It was odd; he still had to tamp down the instinct to tense up whenever he saw the red armour of a Krimzon Guard. They were following his own orders now; whenever one recognized him on his vehicle (it only happened twice, as he was out of uniform himself) he received a salute. They were his force to command, now. But the red, the logo, and the gloss remained rooted to something deep and unpleasant at the bottom of his psyche.

A rebrand was definitely in order, as soon as they were finished with the most intensive period of repairs.

Without any conscious decision or intent, his hands at the wheel began to guide him into the once-familiar patterns of the patrols he used to be assigned the most during his time in the KG. He let it happen, making note of the state of each street he passed through and beginning to mentally frame up a report on the progress of repairs.

For the most part, he grudgingly had to admit that things were going as well as could be hoped for, if not better. The greater bulk of the rubble had been cleared away already in the worst-hit areas; Haven work crews moved quickly.

He slowed down, passing by the power station that had been Vin’s haunt; the gaping door had been boarded over, but there were huge claw marks and holes in the concrete surrounding it. He knew there were crews inside piecing the machinery back together inside (because he’d organized them himself three days ago), but there was no sign of activity visible from the outside. With a frown he finally turned away, making a mental note to look into getting some sort of memorial put up.

His communicator buzzed back to life.

‘Hey Torn!’ said Tess cheerfully. ‘Ashelin told me what’s going on. How about you come by the Naughty Ottsel for some lunch?’

‘Is the rat there?’ Torn asked warily.

‘Uhh… Well, it is HIS bar, sooo…’

Torn really did not feel like dealing with Daxter right now. ‘I’ll pass, then. Thanks.’

‘Actually, you can’t,’ said Tess, her cheer undiminished. ‘Ashelin thought you might say that-- so it’s an official order.’

Torn groaned aloud. ‘Fine,’ he snapped a moment later. ‘I’ll see you--’  _ and the rat _ ‘-- in a few minutes.’

Traffic flow was busy in the city-- it hadn’t taken long at all for business as usual to resume after the attack, and the ebb and flow of people and vehicles was nearly back to normal now that people felt safer. There’d been a few halfhearted attacks on the hastily-repaired wall sections by metalheads, but the leaderless rabble had been easily beaten back; plans were in motion to put up more permanent reinforcements.

Or… they’d been in motion when he left the office yesterday, anyway. Rationally, he knew Ashelin was more than capable of staying on top of the project; while the New Krimzon Guard was smaller in terms of manpower than the force the Baron had commanded, they still had plenty of power and resources to spread around. And she wasn’t stupid; if anything genuinely big or unexpected happened, he was sure he would be recalled.

Less rationally, he couldn’t help but fret over it. He was supposed to be relaxing; but the sensation of powerlessness was, if anything, more stressful than the job.

Not an aggressive driver by nature, Torn didn’t bother trying to push through the traffic; he was in no hurry. But the flow still brought him to the Port all too soon.

He left his zoomer by the door and took a moment to cast the giant ottsel head mounted above the door a glower of deep distrust and loathing before stepping through into the dimly lit bar. Tess was leaning against the counter, talking to Daxter; she turned and looked back over her shoulder to smile as Torn entered.

‘Whoa, look who’s here!’ said Daxter, jumping up to the top of a napkin dispenser to spread his hands in Torn’s direction. ‘Gravel-breath himself! Gettin’ some sunshine for a change, eh?’

‘This bar is darker than any office I’ve ever worked in,’ said Torn curtly. He looked around. ‘Where’s Jak?’ The bar was empty aside from Tess and Daxter; the lack of patrons was unsurprising as it wasn’t technically open for business yet, still in need of some repairs, but it was rare to see the rat without his companion.

‘He’s off on one of the missions  _ you _ assigned him yesterday, I believe,’ said Daxter. ‘We split up for this one though, because I’ve got duties here,’ he added primly, drawing himself up to preen as he emphasized the word ‘duties’.

‘Daxter picked up a new game to build up the arcade,’ Tess chimed in, nodding towards the corner; there was a large new machine there, covered with garish text and graphics on par with anything Krew had ever offered. Its front was still turned to face the wall and all the cabling was tangled around it, with an open and slightly-bent manual tossed on top of the mess; it seemed that installation had been paused midway through. Torn looked back over at Tess and Daxter with an eyebrow raised.

‘Yessir, there’s a lot of important work to do, running a fine establishment such as this,’ said Daxter, rolling his thin shoulders. ‘Complicated stuff. I needed a break.’

‘We’ve mostly repaired the kitchen!’ said Tess. ‘So we can do food again. Come on and sit down, Torn, we’ve got something for you!’

She patted one of the bar stools and Torn hesitated a moment before stepping forward (with a longing glance towards the booths, which would keep him a more tolerable distance away from the gregarious orange rat). Daxter vanished and then reappeared bearing a plate, which he dropped in front of Torn.

‘Voila! Tell us how it is,’ said Daxter eagerly. ‘And then tell the world! We could really use some endorsements. Fledgling business, you know how it is.’

Torn stared down at it for a moment and then slowly picked up the fork. Samos had healed the damage to his stomach, but he had yet to try eating since then; it was hard to get over the aversions that had built up over time. His mind unhelpfully supplied him with a psychosomatic memory of the horrible burning and nausea that had plagued him for rather longer than the month he’d admitted to Ashelin.

Defiantly he stabbed the fork into a pile of what looked like mashed potatoes, and then paused to look over at the ottsel. Daxter was staring at him in eager anticipation, elbows leaning on the top of the napkin dispenser.

‘Would you cut that out?’ Torn growled. ‘I don’t need any help losing my appetite here.’

Daxter’s back jerked straight, affronted. ‘What? Moi?’ He spun around and walked away, throwing his hands up in a huff. ‘Some people, I swear… just got no taste.’

Tess leaned a hand on her hip. ‘Torn, that was really rude!’

‘I’d like to remind you that I’m here under duress,’ said Torn. Tess’s expression didn’t change; if anything it grew harder.

In the sudden quiet, from the far end of the counter, Daxter’s mumblings could be heard. ‘No appreciation for beauty, really. Or any of the finer things in life… Wouldn’t know a handsome visage if it smacked him in the face!’ There was the sound of clinking bottles.

Torn sighed. ‘...Sorry. Thank you for lunch.’ He picked up the fork again and started to eat.

He kept bracing himself for the pain but it never came; of course, he had no doubt in Samos’s abilities, but it had been so long… Some of that internal effort must have shown in his face, because after a minute or so Tess asked him worriedly how it was.

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Tastes good.’

A flash of orange at the corner of his vision was Daxter’s head, rising slowly from behind the counter. ‘Good, you say…? Would you say... good like a hearty, pick-me-up on a cold day, or like an exquisite dish to be savoured?’

‘It’s good,’ Torn repeated flatly, meeting the wide eyes woodenly. Daxter was unperturbed, grinning up at Tess. ‘He likes it! Shall we say, it’s ‘Revolutionary Approved’?’

Torn paused for a moment. ‘...Did  _ you _ cook this?’

‘Well… parts of it,’ said Daxter, shrugging with an affect of nonchalance. ‘Tess over here helped!’

‘You’re not planning to cook all the food for the bar once it opens, are you?’ Torn looked at him dubiously. ‘Not that it’s bad, but… that’s a lot of work.’

‘We’re looking around for a chef,’ said Daxter. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all under control.’ He remained unruffled by Torn’s skeptical stare, preening on the countertop.

Tess leaned against the bar as the conversation flagged; after a minute, Daxter dusted off his hands and jumped down to the floor, heading back to the exposed guts of the new arcade game. Shortly, the air was filled with mechanical whirs and the sound of Daxter’s soft muttering from inside the machine.

‘Are you going to watch the race?’ Tess asked Torn.

‘Wasn’t planning on it,’ said Torn, stirring his fork around the plate.

‘Aw, are you sure?’ said Tess. ‘It ought to be fun. There’s a promising new racer, I’ve heard.’

‘I don’t do fun,’ said Torn.

‘Well, what else are you going to do?’ said Tess, raising an eyebrow at him. ‘Are you planning to just mope around all week?’

Put that way, there didn’t seem to be any good answer. Torn sighed.

__

‘How did it go?’

Tess sighed. ‘I forgot how much of a stick in the mud he can be, you know? I’ve never met anyone who didn’t enjoy watching the races, but...’

‘Hmm.’ Ashelin tapped a pen on the documents she had spread out over her desk, then raised it to sign another form. ‘I was hoping it’d get him to relax a little.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen him relaxed in the whole time I’ve known him,’ said Tess. ‘And I’ve known him for a long time.’

Ashelin smiled briefly, jotting down a note on another sheet of paper kept off to the side. ‘I know he can. But it’s true that he doesn’t really have any hobbies to fall back on. He’s barely left the palace since we moved operations here.’

‘He never left the hideout at all, during the war,’ said Tess. ‘Back then it was because it wasn’t safe to leave-- but now that we’re all considered heroes, we can go where we please. I don’t know why he hasn’t taken advantage of that. Everyone else has.’

Ashelin knew the answer to that one, at least; she and Torn had talked about that very thing off and on ever since the defeat of the metalhead leader and the start of her own rise to power. Torn was decidedly uncomfortable with the idea of being in the spotlight; he left all the speeches and public activity to her, preferring to stick to his office as much as possible. In the immediate wake of the war, there had been a swell of public interest in the people behind the victory, and everyone in the underground had become instantly famous. Some thrived on the attention, some were indifferent, and some… well, some retreated even further into the shadows, waiting for the spotlight to move on.

She sighed and pushed her ink pad aside so that she could lean an elbow on the desk surface, resting her chin on her fist. ‘He has his reasons. But maybe in the meantime we could find things to do around the city that don’t involve crowds…’

Tess brightened up. ‘I have an idea! I’ll take him to the gun range, that always cheers me up.’

Ashelin raised both eyebrows at her. ‘Wouldn’t that count as work?’

‘No way! We have some new prototype weapons in from the Vulcan plant, no one can stay in a bad mood when they play with those puppies. I’ve been itching to try them out ever since they came in yesterday.’

Tapping her fingers together, Ashelin smiled faintly. ‘Okay… well, give that a shot. Let me know how it goes-- and if you have any other ideas to keep him busy. I don’t want him to spend this whole week clawing at his office door.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry I can't be more help, I’ve just got no time--’  
  
Tess waved a hand, grinning. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it! This oughta be fun.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a conspiracy!
> 
> Sorry about how long this took to go up! I still don't know how long this fic will be overall but I had an idea for how to continue it so figured I'd put this chunk up too. :U


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